


to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

by cherripepsy



Category: DCU
Genre: 11:52 PM pacific time yeaaah babey, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Height Differences, Humor, Light Angst, M/M, No Proofreading We Die Like Men, Oblivious, Yearning, also, i love hozier, this couldve been posted sooner but my wifi sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23679985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cherripepsy/pseuds/cherripepsy
Summary: Clark doesn’t like how touchy-feely Bruce is with him in front of patrons. But he really didn’t expect him to take his “no flirting” rule as a hands-off policy.
Relationships: Clark Kent & Bruce Wayne, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne
Comments: 11
Kudos: 281





	to have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you guys enjoy and constructive criticism is always welcome! Make sure to check out my art account @chrqnn on both Tumblr and Instagram :) Title is from Hozier’s “To Be Alone”!

Clark was often stuck wondering what face Bruce presented was the _real_ one. In fact, he was often stuck wondering a lot of things about Bruce. But the question of his identity was the really salient one. See, “Brucie” wasn’t merely just an endearing nickname from models and childhood friends alike, but a genuine persona Bruce took on. Sharp smile, flirtatious personality, and an overall cheerful disposition that made most League members’ skin crawl. And “Batman” was another mask, both literally and figuratively, that Bruce wore practically every night. Then Bruce, well...Bruce was a lot of layers, Bruce was something he was still trying to figure out.

But all that seemed trivial considering that _Brucie_ was currently situated squarely on his lap, champagne flute in one hand and Clark’s cheap tie in the other. Clark was comfortable with his sexuality, he really was, but there was a sort of embarrassment that came with Bruce’s flirting and advancements. 

“Ah, Mr. Way--” Clark started, flushed and bothered.

“ _Please_ , call me Bruce.”

Some blonds giggled beside him. Clark was glad he wasn’t the center of attention this time, Bruce’s birthday bashes often resulted in heavy drinking and partying so the crowd was just brushing past them every now and then. Still, people took glances.

“Oh, okay, uhm,” he was tripping over his words now. Bruce was a pretty heavy man, and not even his own alien biology could stop him from _reacting_. “Would you, please, and I’m, uh, really sorry to ask this, would you--”

“Spit it out, Kansas,” Bruce husked into Clark’s ear. And, _wow_ , that was not a tone he’d heard before.

“Get off, _please?_ ” It sounded more like a whimper than a plea.

And it’s almost like Bruce has this grand revelation and his face flashes in a look of surprise and he stands up so gracefully that Clark’s teenage self is in awe at how _not_ awkward Bruce’s motions are. Clark lets the love seat envelop him, sinks in lower to make himself hidden and braces a hand against his face. He could carry the weight of the world on his back and not break a sweat but now his face was hot and, if he had to take a gander, red. A peak back up at Bruce finds that he’s gone and has left as comfortably as he took a seat on Clark. There’s more giggling behind Clark’s back.

He doesn’t see Bruce for the rest of the night and takes his leave close to midnight when all the guests are too inebriated to take quotes from. He’d decided to stop at “ _Oh, Broose?_ We’re not _close_ but there was this one night, in Cancun, and I’d want to say seven, maybe eight, inches?” Clark had asked what she meant before his brain had the chance to fill in the blanks. His mother always said that he had a real knack of saying and doing exactly the things that’d fluster him. He figured she was right considering the night he just had. When he made it to his shabby apartment and into his miserable bed, he thought about who his friend really was again. He’d love to ask Bruce that someday.

A week passed and Clark was in uniform, walking into the Watchtower’s surveillance room. “Have time to talk?”

Batman grunted, “What is it, Kal?”

“Oh, so we’re in a good mood today?” Superman took a seat next to him. “Robin get an A on his English paper for the first time?”

“That professor is quite honestly the most inept and decrepit excuse of a human being I have ever seen or heard of in my life and I have 40 years worth of people I’ve known.”

“Careful, your dad is showing.”

And Clark’s really glad in moments like these that Bruce’s cowl doesn’t cover his mouth because he can see the small quirk of the lip he gives whenever he’s teased.

“So,” Batman turns back to the CCTV live streams, “what can I do for you?”

“Uh, it’s more like what you can do for C.K. Remember your birthday party, last week?”

“Sadly.”

“And, uhm, do you remember when you kinda, sorta sat in my lap?”

If Bruce had felt any emotion at that, he wasn’t showing it. “Were you upset?”

“ _No!_ I was--wait,” Superman taps his fingers against his chin. _Upset_ just seemed like a really strong word. “I think I was...uncomfortable,” he decides.

“Can I ask why?”

“It’s not anything like _that_ , B. You know I make my rounds at Pride every year, it’s just--” Martha also said that he had a bad habit of fiddling with his thumbs. He takes a deep breath and forces out a, “It’s embarrassing.”

Batman hums at that and he figures he should probably be more in-depth. “I get you have a public character to keep up and keep playing at but people, you know, _speculate_ and I don’t mind the speculating but with the speculating comes laughing and with the laughing comes--”

“Embarrassment,” Batman finishes.

“Yeah,” Clark says slowly. “Embarrassment.” There was a lot more Clark could say. How he didn’t want to seem like a bashful teen girl, or a bumbling idiot from rural America who couldn’t flirt back to save his life, or maybe just a _fool_ who really fell for the advances of a disgustingly handsome playboy.

“Duly noted,” Bruce chuckled. “I’ll make sure to tone it down for you, Smallville.”

“Th-thanks,” Clark sighed. It was probably the least problematic talk he’s had with Bruce as Batman.

But then it _was_ problematic as Clark found that Bruce was taking “toning it down” as avoiding all friendly physical contact with him. And Clark couldn’t just talk to Bruce for a _second_ time and ask that he _do_ touch him. The amount of accidental sexual innuendos he could make within the first minute of discussing it with Bruce was astronomical. He’d imagined it go like:

_“When you said ‘tone it down’, I didn’t want it to mean like you couldn’t touch me in places that I like.”_

_“Sitting on your lap wasn’t touching you in a place you_ like _?”_

He really wasn’t in the mood for that and he never would be. His skin was _starved_ though and Clark was _irked._ Bruce would sit next to him at lunch nearly every day, and their knees touched and Bruce would go unbothered and Clark didn’t realize the comfort it brought him until he was suddenly devoid of that contact specifically, and it kept him up at night knowing that something as platonic as _knee touching_ was one of the most intimate things in life.

Oh, and he curled into himself each night in bed, finding some sort of warmth that he knew couldn’t be fulfilled with a raggedy mattress and air dried cotton sheet, when he missed the way Bruce would run his fingers through his hair whenever he laid his head in Bruce’s lap. The first time he did it, they were in Bruce’s personal quarters in the Watchtower and he was busy scribbling away at his tablet with a stylus, and Clark couldn’t resist the urge to just _lounge_ on the couch with him like a cat at midday. And it was so unlike Bruce to peak down at Clark and give a soft smile, eyes warm and tender, but he did it anyway.

But above all, what Clark truly did miss the most, was the goodbye hugs he got each time he delivered Bruce home after a long and tiring mission. After a battle with Professor Ivo’s latest Amazo model, Clark found himself in the Bat Cave sending Bruce off to his personal infirmary with Alfred. Normally there was a half attempted embrace, Clark’s nose buried in Bruce’s (usually) soot covered hair, and Bruce’s hand would be at the small of Clark’s back and his own face would be pressed against Clark’s chest. Then they’d go their separate ways only after telling each other to rest well and ease up. But this time around, this time around: Clark was saying, “Get well soon” and there was no accompanying hug. Not even a pat on the back or a smile. Just, “Thanks, you too.” And Clark just laughed into the cold air long after he’d started his flight back to Metropolis. Maybe Bruce was just really tired this time, maybe he had some sort of business assignment that wouldn’t allow him to take a much deserved nap. Maybe Clark didn’t really have a right to be sad even if he was right, and Bruce really wasn’t as friendly with him anymore.

Martha was right about a third thing with Clark though. He never really knew when to let things be. So, one night, while Clark and Bruce are out superheroing in Gotham in hopes of taking down a crime lord terrorizing both of their cities, Clark thinks to himself, _I am bashful, I am a bumbling idiot, and I really am a fool. I am all of those things._ Batman is to the left of him, his figure a harsh profile against the Gotham skyline. From where Superman’s standing Batman’s legs are in full view, unhindered by his black cape. Coming from a man who’s never had to work for the majority of his muscle mass, he had to admit that he admired Bruce’s body. His thighs were especially sturdy and made for powerhouse round kicks. For Bruce, his muscles were earned.

“Getting a good view, Smallville?” Batman grunted.

And _that_ caught Superman off guard, not only because he hadn’t realized he was staring but it was the first time in months that Batman had said anything as raunchy so _casually_. “Uhm, yeah I guess?” he chuckled.

Batman grimaced. “Sorry, old habits die hard.”

“What’re you talking ab--oh,” Superman frowned. There was no better time than ever to just bring things to light _now_. “Actually, about that…”

“Hmm?”

“You know, I, uh...I didn’t want you to stop touching me _completely_ when I asked for the flirting to stop.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I guess I should’ve been more transparent about that but to fair B, I really didn’t think you’d go as far as to stop _hugging_ me,” Clark crossed his arms now defiantly. It was good to get things off his chest. “I mean, you know that I wasn’t asking you to stay six feet away from me at all times, right? You don’t have to sit _across_ from me at lunch like we’re still getting to know each other. I’m okay with changing clothes in the same room as you still. I can _handle_ all that, in fact, I _like_ it.”

“You enjoy being _shirtless_ in front of me?” Batman picked up his binoculars and inspected the docks they stood in front of.

“Okay, well, I can’t say I didn’t see myself saying something like this,” Clark groaned and rubbed at his face with both hands. “Point is, I miss the little things we did together. I’m not _apprehensive_ to all your touches, I just…” _wish some of them were kept in private, maybe in a place where we_ can _act like that without privy eyes, because I really did like having you in my lap and I’d really like anything else you did with me, actually,_ is what Clark wanted to say. But it’s also what Clark _didn’t_. “I just don’t like people laughing at me.”

“Black Maserati Levante. Plate number 560899. It’s our guy.”

The kingpin was (unsurprisingly) short work. Superman took on all the heavy artillery while Batman dispatched of the much lesser armed henchmen. Vincent Luka himself didn’t put up much of a fight when everything was over, Clark figured that being a kingpin really only required enough confidence to force weaker people into submission. It was all anticlimactic. The GCPD was already collecting various files found in the dock’s warehouse for evidence and all the narcotics and arms were carted away with them. Superman found Batman leaning against the wall of a building just in front of the warehouse after he’d finished pleasantries with some _very_ enthusiastic police officers.

“They like you,” Batman mused.

“I think they’re just bored of you,” Superman smiled.

Batman shrugged and pushed off the wall to stand in front of Superman. “You can walk the surface of the sun, but you’re still scared of people laughing at you.”

“I--Is that a question?” Superman crossed his arms.

“No,” Batman shook his head. “I just thought it was amusing.”

“B, you know I grew up fairly human…” he frowned.

Batman waved a hand in the air as if swiping away at the thought. “No,” he laughed, “no, Kal. I find it an _endearing_ type of amusing. You’re so powerful yet so _self aware_.”

“I think you mean self conscious.”

“That’s a bit harsh,” Batman flashed his teeth.

Superman rubbed at the nape of his neck. “So, will you not _not_ touch me anymore?”

“Well, you asked that I stop flirting.”

“Yeah...I don’t see what that has to do with this.”

“I’m _confused_ ,” Batman cleared his throat, “as to how I can stop flirting with you while also touching you.”

“That is a _reasonably_ easy thing to do--” Superman elongated the ‘o’ in ‘do’ until he was just saying ‘oh’.

Clark was aware of how cliché it would be to say that they stood in silence for what felt like a lifetime, and Perry didn’t like clichés, but he couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. _I really truly am a bashful, bumbling idiot. And a fool. I’m all of that._

“It was unfair of me to think you’d notice any of the signs I gave you,” Bruce’s mouth quirked up, “only one of us is a detective after all.”

And normally Clark would retort back with, “I’m an investigative journalist.” But he didn’t have the heart to ruin the moment, and just embraced Bruce after three months of touch starvation.

“How about you stay this time when we get back to the Cave?” Bruce whispered against his chest.

“I’d love that.” And Clark thought, _maybe I’ll finally get to know you_.


End file.
